CHAPTER XIII
There was a divine fragrance in the air. Fairfax stopped to gather a few anemones and handed them to his silent companion.
"Since you have grown so pale in the collar factory, Miss Molly, you look like these flowers."
He stretched out his, arms, bared his head, flung it up and looked toward the woodland up the slope and saw the snow-white stones on the hill, above the box borders and the cedar borders of the burial place: above, the sky was blue as a bird's wing.
"Let me help you." He put his hand under her arm and walked with her up the hill. They breathed together; the sweet air with its blossomy scent touched their lips, and the ancient message of spring spoke to them. He was on Molly's left side; beneath his arm he could feel her fluttering heart and his own went fast. At the hill top they paused at the entrance to a pretentious lot, with high white shafts and imposing columns, broken by the crude whiteness of a single marble cross. Brightly it stood out against the air and the dark green of cedar and box.
"This is the most perfect monument," he said aloud, "the most harmonious; indeed, it is the only relief to the eye."
On every grave were Easter garlands, crosses and wreaths; the air was heavy with lilac and with lily.
Except for a few monosyllables Molly said nothing, but now, as they paused side by side, she murmured—
"It's beautiful quiet after the racket of the shops; it's like heaven!"